


World's Most Unusual Cover Letter

by Emily_Elizabeth_Fowl



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: 00Q Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2020-2021, Alternate Universe - Police, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Elizabeth_Fowl/pseuds/Emily_Elizabeth_Fowl
Summary: James Bond was going to die.Of course, with his chosen profession, Death was always hanging out just around the corner, but this-This was far more tangible than that.Staring into the slightly bloodshot icy-blue eyes on the other side of the bars, Q knew without a doubt that before the day was over, he’d strangle that man with his own two hands.***In other words, this is an alternate universe in which Q is a police officer, Bond is his criminal informant and MI6 is about to beveryembarrassed.
Relationships: James Bond & Alec Trevelyan, James Bond & Q, James Bond/Q, Q & Alec Trevelyan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 49
Collections: 2020-2021 00Q Reverse Big Bang





	World's Most Unusual Cover Letter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azure7539](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azure7539/gifts).



> This work had been inspired by an artwork made by Azure7539, which you can find under the following [link!](https://azure7539arts.tumblr.com/post/642003606927818752/for-00q-rbb-2020-art-by-azure7539-the)
> 
> It had been written for the 2020/2021 00Q Reverse Big Bang Exchange.
> 
> Any typos or other mistakes are my responsibility, and I'd appreciate it if you were to point them out. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

James Bond was going to die.  
  
Of course, with his chosen profession, Death was always hanging out just around the corner, but this-  
  
This was far more tangible than that.  
  
Staring into the slightly bloodshot icy-blue eyes on the other side of the bars, Q knew without a doubt that before the day was over, he’d strangle that man with his own two hands.  
  
Bond, completely unaware of his fast approaching demise - or perhaps simply uncaring - offered a small smile and a cheeky wave.  
  
How many times have Q told him, if he _had_ to get arrested, he should _at least_ avoid Q’s own precinct? It must’ve been in high hundreds now. Perhaps the ancient age of 37 have finally caught up with the wanna-be spy *cough-criminal-cough* and affected his memory badly enough to forget that.  
  
Or perhaps he simply didn’t care. He didn’t seem to care about much at all.  
  
One could never tell with Bond. Sometimes it felt like he was simply Q’s third cat, if only slightly less present at his flat. He’d come when he wanted something - or call, if he was in a rush, - and he’d frequently leave gifts on Q’s coffee table.  
  
Considering all of these gifts were connected to Q’s cases, furthering his career at an accelerated rate, Q didn’t bother complaining.  
  
Settling at his desk - at least he had one now, after months of working off any available surface - Q checked his phone for any missed messages. Or at least he tried to - when he pressed the button to turn it on, the screen remained black.  
  
He was sure it was charged - Q distinctly remembered unplugging it from the charger this morning, - so why wasn’t it...  
  
Ah. He had tripped over the curb this morning. Landing in the puddle of rainwater must’ve disagreed with the piece of electronics.  
  
Q’d have probably noticed sooner, if he used his phone at all. He much preferred his laptop - the only reason he had the smartphone in the first place was because it was necessary for his job.  
  
And, of course, Bond had a tendency to call him, but usually he rerouted it to his tablet. Except he had a program running on the tab at the moment, so he left it on do-not-disturb back at the flat…  
  
Popping the phone back in his pocket, Q made his way over to the Inspector Jones, the one responsible for checking people into the holding cells. He’d be the best person to ask why Bond was currently in there.  
  
“Hey, Inspector,” Q said, leaning against her desk.  
  
Jones raised her head from the thick stack of papers she was filling in, taking out an earplug. She claimed they helped her focus, a small bit of protection against the overwhelming bustle of the precinct.  
  
“Hey, look at you, Mister Sergeant! How was your weekend?”  
  
“Meh, not the worst,” Q waved his hand. “As opposed to these fellows. That’s a lot for Monday morning. What they’re all in for?”  
  
“Oh, you know, drunken disruptions, mostly,” Inspector Jones shrugged. Their department wasn’t the biggest, that was the most popular thing they got. “Some public indecency, nothing big.”  
  
Q did not want to imagine which of these categories Bond fell into.  
  
“And the blonde fella?” he asked instead. “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”  
  
“Oh him?” Inspector Jones took a look along her documents, her brows crunching the longer she kept searching. “Hang on a second, I don’t seem to have his file here-”  
  
The sound of bones crunching, loud enough to come their way all the way from the holding cells, would have been enough to disturb them. But Bond was not done, spewing the worst swears he knew in a truly incredible volume.  
  
Forget washing Bond’s mouths with soap, Q was tempted to wash his own ears first!  
  
The cops swarmed to the holding cell like flies to an abandoned steak, breaking the fisticuffs quickly.  
  
Of course, the fight broke so quickly mostly because everyone took the chance to pound on a cop instead of their fellow cellmate, but it didn’t matter in the long run.  
  
“Who started this?” constable Rayleigh asked, baton ready in hand.  
  
Everyone pointed - or nodded, if their hands were restricted - towards Bond. Bond in turn just grinned, showing off his bloodied teeth.  
  
...Somehow, Q doubted the blood was his.  
  
Bond got hauled to the quarantine, and with the order temporarily restored, the station fell back into the peaceful morning lull.  
  
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore,” Q said, desperate to change the subject. “Hey, my work phone broke over the weekend. Should I bring it over to IT or?”  
  
“There’s that tech guy who handles that for us, new hire, Sylvester or something? He’s by the IT, room 37.”  
  
“Thanks, Inspector, you’re a lifesaver,”  
  
Well, he’d have to go drop the phone off first thing. His supervisors rather disliked it when he left it off for too long. And then he could question Bond’s stupidity at its source.  
  
Q went back to his desk. With his tablet busy back at home, he’d have to use his laptop. There were a couple of cameras by the isolation, though it’d be no problem to loop them for a while when he was down there to talk with Bond. He just had to make sure to loop a bit of footage when there was no one moving on-screen.  
  
Usually, he didn’t need to do this while on the move, but it’s not like such a tiny obstacle was going to stop him. The program would just keep running until he was back to switch it off.  
  
Leaving his laptop on the desk - it wasn’t like anyone was going to steal it and it was too well protected to have anyone use it without his permission - he headed towards the stairs.  
  
He knocked on the half-open doors to room 37 - an over-glorified janitors closet with a desk stuffed inside, really, overflowing with spare cables and other parts - startling the man inside rather badly, judging by how high he had jumped.  
  
“Hi,” he said, trying to ignore the state of the man’s hardware. Did he ever even dust it?? Not to mention the state of his desktop. Even at his worst, Q didn’t have that bad of a cluster.  
  
And judging by the amount of code on Sylvester’s screen, he was in the middle of a project, too. He minimised the panels quickly though, - probably some pet project he wasn’t supposed to work on during work hours. Q knew that feeling well.  
  
“Hi, hi, yes,” Sylvester said, frantically pushing stuff around. Nervous, but that wasn’t that unusual for a new hire. It took a few months before you got used to it, before you realized working at a police station wasn't as important as it seemed before.  
  
“Sylvester, right? I’ve - my phone broke, Inspector Jones said to come over to you?”  
  
“Yeah, I can handle that,” Sylvester said, pushing his hair away from his eyes. It seemed like it’s been a while since he had a haircut. Q never let his hair get this long, it would have been too much of an inconvenience. “If you swing by by the end of the day, I’ll have it ready for you. Fixed, or data transfer, whatever will work.”  
  
“Great! Thanks,” Q smiled, dropping off the phone on the closest empty surface, one leg already out of the door. “Have a good one, Sylvester!”  
  
He left quickly, eager to leave the dusty equipment behind. Just looking at it had his hands itching for a dusting spray and some microfiber cloth.  
  
The isolation cells were back on the ground floor, just a few turns away from the main room in which Q’s desk was placed.  
  
Bond was the only one in the long row of doors made of thick bars.  
  
Q felt entirely justified in leaning against the wall opposite the doors, unimpressed eyes levelled on Bond.  
  
The man in question didn’t seem bothered at all. He just laid down on the bed, hands behind his head, as if this was a seaside resort.  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” Q asked without a preamble.  
  
“You weren’t picking up your phone,” Bond said immediately, not even opening his eyes.  
  
Good thing, that, as Q couldn’t quite hide the shiver at hearing that gravely tone. It never failed to distract him.  
  
“I am not your personal 24/7 support system, Bond,” Q rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall to take a step closer. “What was so important you had to go over to the one place that’s off-limits?”  
  
Bond’s eyes flew open, but before he could do or say anything else, the lights went out, plunging them in impenetrable darkness.  
  
That- was not supposed to happen.  
  
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.  
  
The backup generators kicked in some precious seconds later, a high-pitched whirring being the sure sign of that. Hopefully just a regular power outage. Q, having instinctively looked towards the exit, turned his head to look back at Bond-  
  
Only to come face to face with the man. Well, Bond’s face only came up to Q’s chest, but still.  
  
“Dammit!” he startled, jumping away. He tripped over his own legs, and would have definitely fallen down - again! - had Bond not caught him. “Warn a guy, would you? I swear, one of these days I’m gonna put a bell on you like the one all my other cats wear.”  
  
Bond looked faintly amused.  
  
“Not a cat.”  
  
“Could’ve fooled me,” Q grumbled, extracting himself from Bond’s grasp. “Well, whatever happened, it’s over now. I don’t know why you left your cell, other than to startle me - and I wouldn’t put this past you, you terrible, terrible man - but back in you go, now-”  
  
He pushed lightly at Bond’s chest, but the man didn’t budge. Clearly, he wasn’t in a mood to indulge him.  
  
“It’s not over,” he said. “Au contraire, it’s just the beginning.”  
  
That tone of voice, Q usually associated with the worst of criminals.  
  
That it was used to address a random power outage at the precinct… was weird.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
Bond stalked away without another word, leaving Q no other choice but to follow. With a sigh, he followed, resigned to the chaos that would meet them when they went to the main floor.  
  
He stopped precisely a foot away from the edge of the next non-looped camera range - how did he know which ones were deactivated, when they were still working as intended, Q couldn’t say.  
  
Q prepared himself against the barrage of comments from anyone and everyone who could recognize Bond as one of the people who were supposed to be locked up, not roaming freely around the precinct, but it never came.  
  
In fact, the entire floor was empty, not a person in sight.  
  
When did they all manage to leave? Without Q noticing?  
  
“Look,” Bond said, pointing to something on the floor.  
  
Q squinted at the weird stain. So what? There was always some hot sauce or ketchup smeared on the floor, the desks or the counter. He looked up at Bond, question clear in his eyes.  
  
“It’s blood.”  
  
“How can you be so sure?”  
  
Bond rolled his eyes, nodding pointedly towards the room.  
  
Q obliged him, taking another look. When not focusing on the mysterious stain, he could see the blackout blinds on the windows and bars over the entrance; Someone had activated the lockdown protocol without activating any of the alarms.  
  
It still didn’t explain where everyone had gone.  
  
But it did explain Bond’s presence.  
  
“You knew about this,” Q said, and if his voice sounded a bit accusing, well. He figured he was allowed, considering it was his workplace that was plunged in total disarray.  
  
Bond simply nodded. “I knew there was some danger incoming, but I didn’t know it was going to be exactly this. I sent you a message with all I know.”  
  
Q rubbed at his eyes, displacing his glasses slightly.  
  
“Well, I didn’t get it. My phone got broken this morning. What do you know?”  
  
Gone was the relaxed man Q always interacted with; In his place stood someone with razor-sharp focus, a calculating glint in his eyes.  
  
Q quickly realized he should have had tagged along on some of the lead-gathering excursions Bond had done in his name. He was entirely unprepared for this side of Bond’s personality, and it was entirely too distracting, especially in a crisis situation.  
  
“I got a fresh piece of intel this morning,” he said, his voice strangely clipped. “Someone had been infiltrating this precinct for a few months now. Apparently they’re hoping to use its proximity to the MI6’s secret base to their advantage. They’re trying to show off their skills in a practical demonstration. Hoping for an important position somewhere up top, my source said.”  
  
Q rolled his eyes. “MI6’s secret base.”  
  
Bond looked at him strangely.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “What about it?”  
  
It could have been a joke, if Bond for whatever reason decided to start making bad jokes. Or perhaps a faulty intel, even if that, too, would have been a first.  
  
“You’re serious,” Q realized. “MI6 had gotten a secret lair and somehow, we’re the closest precinct? And it had never come up before?”  
  
“Why would it? It’s secret for a reason.”  
  
Right, this day was shaping up to be truly amazing. Q took a deep breath.  
  
“What do you want to do, then?” he asked. “You’re probably not planning on waiting it out if you went through the trouble of breaking in here.”  
  
The expression Q received in response was not encouraging in the slightest.  
  
Q groaned.  
  
“Can’t we just call-” he said before realizing that no, they could not just call the cops.  
  
They _were_ the cops.  
  
Well, at least Q was. Bond was just a far-too-nosy vigilante of sorts. He couldn’t be, in good conscience, called a standard citizen, but neither was he a criminal.  
  
He floated in the limbo, having carved out his own spot, not really subject to any external descriptors.  
  
“You’re usually brighter than this,” Bond smirked, and Q suddenly managed to find a perfect descriptor: being a pain in his ass.  
  
“Gimme your phone anyway,” Q groaned again, making the grabby hands motion at Bond. “Let’s see if I can untangle some of this mess remotely.”  
  
“I don’t think you’ll be able to-”  
  
“Let me be the judge of that.”  
  
Bond passed his phone over with no further comment, and Q soon realized where his protest had stemmed from. As a person seemingly allergic to technology, Bond’s phone didn’t even have a touchscreen.  
  
Q doubted it could even connect to the internet.  
  
“Seriously,” he said, deadpan, staring at the tiny flip phone. He hadn’t seen one of these in- had to be years, now. “Why.”  
  
“It’s all I need,” Bond shrugged. “And it’s better for writing messages out of sight.”  
  
Of course, that’d be a factor Bond was concerned with. To be fair, the touchscreen was tricky at the best of times, not to mention when your phone had to stay in your pocket for the entire duration of composing the message.  
  
“I’ll need a laptop, then.” Q turned to face the open floor, glaring at his desk. “Preferably my own, but, well…”  
  
With the desk - and subsequently, also the laptop - right in the view of the camera, there was no way it could be retrieved without notice.  
  
If whoever caused the lockdown was at all intelligent, he would be monitoring the feeds; With all the people gone, it could be set to simple motion sensing and still work perfectly for its current purpose.  
  
They would need every advantage they could get, and holding to the element of surprise would be a large part of it. It’d be dumb to risk it so early in the game, even if Q’s laptop would offer significantly simplified workload.  
  
Bond had already disappeared - carefully weaving across the obstacles, using everything he possibly could for cover. He had a truly incredible sense for where the cameras were pointing. Was it a talent, or just the constant practice made him perfect?  
  
He returned moments later, managing to startle Q even when he was trying his best to track Bond’s movement.  
  
“Will this do?” he asked, passing over three separate laptops and a tablet.  
  
He even thought to include a charger, although Q was pretty sure it’d only fit two of these laptops.  
  
“I’ll make it work,” Q said, accepting the devices.  
  
With a hand on his elbow, Bond led him back to the isolation cells. Whether it was to prevent Q from tripping, or to prevent him from trying to immediately dive into the electronics, it was still a nice gesture.  
  
They went back to the same cell Bond had been previously locked in, on the account of its doors being the only ones currently unlocked.  
  
Q settled in front of the bed, powering up the laptops spread in a semi-circle all over the mattress. Meanwhile Bond stood guard by the door, unnoticeable from the outside.  
  
As Q had feared, the laptops were far from ideal. One was cluttered, both with crumbs and dried up sauces stuck between the keys and outdated files spread haphazardly over the desktop. With how long it took it to load even the simplest apps, Q discarded it right away.  
  
He wanted to know whose laptop it was, ASAP, just so that he could shake its owner and bury them in “how to care about your computer” pamphlets.  
  
Q had had high hopes for the tablet, but it turned out to be almost out of the battery, and the charger would not fit it.  
  
Onto the discard pile it went.  
  
The other two were slightly better - that is to say, they were usable.  
  
Setting up the absolute minimum of a security took a few precious minutes but it had to be done.  
  
Eventually, Q could see at least some of what was going on behind the scenes.  
  
And it wasn’t pretty. Whoever the perpetrator was, they were clearly good at hacking. The MI6’s secret base - if it really existed - had surprisingly weak firewalls; The hacker was slicing through them like they were microwaved butter.  
  
Raising his head, Q was just about to share his findings with Bond. Instead, he got to experience the wonderful sight of Bond flipping someone over, kneeling on their back as they struggled, clearly not expecting anyone to be inside the cell.  
  
“What the hell!” the newcomer exclaimed, settling down a bit. “What do you think you’re doing?!”  
  
Bond did not relax his grip, too experienced for such a simple trick.  
  
Q did not care much for the company. Either the man was with the hacker, and already knew how bad - or good, from their perspective - the situation was, or he stood against the intrusion. In which case, he’d certainly benefit from a proof they were on the same side.  
  
“Are you sure it’s supposed to be MI6?” he asked Bond. “Their firewalls seem to be falling down like they’re made of cards. The hacker could be a child at this point.”  
  
“Can you stop them?”  
  
“Can I stop them?” Q scoffed, “Of course I can!... With proper equipment, anyway.”  
  
Bond couldn’t help but to roll his eyes at Q’s antics.  
  
“And the proper equipment would be?”  
  
“My laptop.”  
  
The movement happened so fast, Q almost missed it. One second he was talking with Bond, the intruder below him, the next, Bond was laying flat on the floor, the other man standing a few feet away.  
  
“I take it you’re not the ones responsible for the lockdown?”  
  
“No,” Bond said, wiping the blood from below his nose as he rose from the floor. “We’re trying to stop it. Who are _you_?”  
  
“I’m also trying to stop it,” the man - they really needed to learn his name, and soon, - shrugged, relaxing minutely. Or pretending to relax. Q wouldn’t put that past him. “Considering I’ll be out of job if whoever’s hacking into my agency has nefarious goals.”  
  
Q was quite worried about the state of his country, if MI6 agent could be bested by a random crook. He would not be voicing that thought - the absolute bitchfest Bond would have thrown if he was called a “random crook” to his face was definitely not worth it - but he did his best to convey his doubts telepathically.  
  
His only hope was that this guy was a random agent who just happened to be nearby, and not a representative of their overall skill range.  
  
“You’re MI6,” Bond tilted his head. “Thought you were supposed to be better. Newbie?”  
  
“Excuse you,” the man - name, seriously, now! - puffed up in indignation. “I’m one of the best, in the field for nearly two decades now! 006, you can call me.”  
  
Bond exchanged a glance with Q. Well, seems they were fucked.  
  
“You know,” Q said. “Considering the state of their firewalls, I don’t know why am I even surprised.”  
  
006 rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  
  
“I’ll admit, our technological division might be a little behind,” he said. “The hacker behind this attack is believed to have his eyes on the Quartermaster position, but it’s not yet certain if a job is all he’s after.”  
  
“In this economy, that’s not so unlikely,” Q said dryly, typing away on the laptop. The battery was getting low - they’d need to relocate somewhere with a power socket soon enough. “Anything else you’d like to share?”  
  
“I’m assuming it was your camera-loops we’ve utilized to get in,” 006 shrugged. “We split - I took the ground, 007 took the first floor.”  
  
“And how’s he doing?” Bond asked.  
  
006 grimaced, pointing to his ear. “I don’t actually know. Our comms got jammed the second we entered the building.”  
  
Q opened his mouth, but whatever he was intending to ask got interrupted by a high-pitched sound, just like the one he heard during the black-out.  
  
“Well, that’s unpleasant,” he said, rubbing his ear.  
  
No one replied.  
  
He looked up. Both Bond and 006 were staring at him with unseeing eyes, standing unnaturally still.  
  
Q felt a shiver pass down his spine.  
  
“Bond? You okay?”  
  
There was no response, but the question spurred 006 into motion. He stalked towards Q with a clear purpose in mind.  
  
Q, rather fond of living in a relatively uninjured state, promptly threw himself out of his way.  
  
But before 006 could touch a single hair on Q’s head, Bond wormed his way in between the two of them, wrestling the threat away with almost mechanical movements.  
  
Bond had 006 knocked out within seconds, panting slightly as he stood over his crumpled form.  
  
“...Bond?” Q stood up hesitantly. “James?”  
  
Bond turned around, the emptiness in his eyes gone, replaced by utter confusion.  
  
“I’m not sure I know what just happened,” he admitted, his voice even thicker than normally.  
  
“Me neither…” Q stepped closer, raising his arms slightly, just in case Bond felt wobbly. “But it had to be related to the lockdown. And the weird high-pitch sound that just keeps playing.”  
  
"What sound?"  
  
Q stared at him for a moment.  
  
"You didn't hear it?"  
  
Bond rubbed his face, and for the first time Q had realized he had probably been up for much longer than advisable.  
  
They'd either have to get it all over with quickly, or stretch it out to fit in a power nap.  
  
Otherwise… They might end up outmatched.  
  
"The last thing I remember is 006 talking about the jam, and then I'm here, you're there and he's out cold!"  
  
This… This was far worse than Q had feared.  
  
“We need to stop this guy before he does this again,” he said, grabbing at the laptop.  
  
But the fall had cracked its screen, and when Q pressed the button, it refused to power on.  
  
“Great,” Q groaned, closing the laptop and putting it off to the side. Not only was he down to one laptop - the one incompatible with the charger - he’d probably need to pay for the damages to whomever it was that owned that laptop. He shook his head slightly, clearing his mind. There was a reason he needed it. “What time is it?”  
  
Bond fished out his ancient phone, flipping it open.  
  
“Just past 10am,” he offered.  
  
“So it’s about an hour since the last time that brainwashing frequency was played,” Q grabbed the last laptop, powering it on. It was significantly slower than the other one. “We probably have until 11am before it sounds again.”  
  
006 groaned, picking himself up from the floor.  
  
“What is this, revenge?” he asked, pressing a hand under his nose and staring at the red stains. “You already sent me to the floor once!”  
  
“If you have the skill for it, you can even the score,” Bond shrugged. “I don’t particularly care, as long as you never attack Q again.”  
  
Freezing halfway from standing up, 006 froze. “I did what?”  
  
“Whoever it is that fancies himself a cozy position in the MI6, they’ve somehow managed to create a brainwashing frequency,” Q said, without interrupting his typing. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s some sort of _suppress the frontal lobe and/or hippocampus, unbalance the amygdala_ kind of deal.”  
  
“If we don’t remember it,” Bond shifted slightly to be perfectly in-between 006 and Q, “Then why do _you_?”  
  
Q blinked.  
  
“I have no clue?” he offered. “But perhaps it doesn’t work on everyone. You don’t seem to have any trouble shrugging it off. In any case, we need to get moving.”  
  
“Lemme just check in with 007,” 006 said, bringing a hand up to his ear. “Ah, fuck, I forgot about the jam.”  
  
“I can’t disable that from afar,” Q shook his head, standing up. “But I can loop the cameras and get us upstairs.”  
  
006 said nothing, moving outside immediately. He checked the corridor outside, motioning at them that it was safe, before disappearing off to the side.  
  
Q and Bond exchanged a glance.  
  
“If he wants to act as a shield, I’m not complaining,” Bond shrugged, pushing Q lightly to follow. “Why don’t you loop the cameras in the main area, to get your laptop back?”  
  
“It doesn’t seem to be possible anymore,” Q said, nodding to the entrance they were standing at less than an hour ago. The emergency lockdown spread further, closing it off with see-through blinds.  
  
“We can’t get to the stairs now,” 006 pointed out.  
  
“There’s a fire-escape ladder by the kitchen,” Q offered. “And the lockdown protocol doesn’t include fire doors, so we should be able to reach it. Lemme just loop those cameras, one second.”  
  
Bond leaned over his shoulder, staring at the screen.  
  
“Are you really looping them?”  
  
“Well, no, not really,” Q said. “Without proper equipment, all I can do is stop them for a moment and hope whoever’s watching won’t notice the mismatched time-stamps.”  
  
“Still better than what _our_ Q does,” 006 muttered, a couple feet ahead, seemingly unaware Q and Bond could still hear him. “He’s all like, _stealth is essential for a double-0 agent_ and _hacking is unbecoming and out of my paygrade_ \- he’s the bloody Quatermaster, for fuck’s sake! Whose paygrade is it in, then?”  
  
“Sucks to be you,” Bond summed up succinctly, before they were on the move again.  
  
006 and Bond worked together surprisingly well, swerving in and out of the rooms to make sure the path was clear.  
  
Q just hoped they kept themselves out of the camera’s vision - he couldn’t loop every single camera they went close to!  
  
...Well, not with _that_ laptop, in any case.  
  
The kitchen was empty, predictably. Q set the laptop on the table for a moment, moving to rummage in the cupboards.  
  
“It’s not really the best time for snacks,” 006 said.  
  
“I’m not looking for snacks,” Q shrugged, finally producing a box. “Here. Keep these close, and I’ll tell you when you’ll need them.”  
  
The two men stared at the objects in their hands in twin bafflement. The only difference was that Bond took three seconds to shrug and stuff the earplugs into his pocket, while 006 was _still staring_.  
  
“It may not be fully effective against the brainwashing,” Q said. “But it may help.”  
  
With a sigh, 006 put them into one of his pouches as well.  
  
While outside, 006 made a token attempt of trying to contact his Headquarters.  
  
“You could go a little bit further away,” Q pointed out. “The signal can’t stretch out that far.”  
  
“I don’t need them that badly,” 006 snorted. “I just wanted to give an update. 007 and I were the only agents nearby, it’s not like they could send in any backup or help out with anything else with all the chaos the hacker’s causing.”  
  
“Wow, am I feeling so safe now that I got that insight into MI6,” Q said dryly.  
  
“We’re meant to function internationally.”  
  
“And somehow your Quartermaster gets better the further away from him you are?” Bond said from behind, bringing up the rear.  
  
“He certainly gets more bearable,” 006 muttered.  
  
They reached the second firedoor easily, making their way through to an almost identical kitchen. Why they needed two of them, Q had no idea, but he had been glad of it several times over the span of his career.  
  
Putting the laptop on the side of the counter for safekeeping, Q took a deep breath.  
  
They considered their options, using Q’s familiarity with the precinct to figure out where, precisely, the hacker would reside.  
  
“Not the tech rooms,” Q said immediately. “Those are all over-glorified janitor closets. If I were proud enough to try and force MI6 to employ me, I’d go for the Chief Inspector’s office.”  
  
006 and Bond exchanged a glance before shooting him a look. Oh god, they were _bonding_.  
  
“Not that I would!” Q raised his hands in defence. “I’m perfectly happy where I am, thank you.”  
  
Bond raised an eyebrow, but Q didn’t bother responding to that. Q’s dissatisfaction with his current employ and his plans for getting out of it were his alone. Bond and his tendency to stuff his nose where it doesn’t belong could shut it.  
  
The doors to the kitchen opened, admitting in a man in an outfit almost identical to the one 006 was wearing.  
  
Not noticing them at first, the man - 007, probably, - went straight towards the sink, filling a kettle. His movements seemed unsure, almost mechanical.  
  
Q froze, exchanging a glance with Bond and 006, debating their options.  
  
But before they could come up with a plan of action, 007 turned around, noticing them for the first time.  
  
His eyes - his empty, terrifyingly empty eyes - widened as he took them in, before narrowing in a facsimile of anger.  
  
Before Q could even blink, 007 lounged at him.  
  
Q had just enough time to conceptualize how glad he was the laptop wasn’t in his hands as he flinched back.  
  
But 007 never reached him, intercepted by Bond.  
  
And it seemed James was in no mood to hold back.  
  
“Well,” 006 made his way over to Q, wincing slightly with every hit 007 took, “I _really_ don’t want to get on _his_ bad side.”  
  
Q just hummed in response, taking the time to check the cameras and restart the ones he had disabled before. Better not to leave a trail for the hacker to pick up on.  
  
They clearly were inside the camera systems already, seeing as several cameras Q checked were disabled completely. He doubted the hacker went through the effort of smashing the actual cameras when the system was just there, for the taking.  
  
At least now they knew for sure the hacker was inside the Chief Inspector’s office, with surrounding rooms likely filled with everyone else.  
  
Q tuned back into the fight - 007 had now several forks sticking out of his body, although it didn’t seem to have any effect on him.  
  
006, however, looked rather pained.  
  
Bond, clearly losing his patience, grabbed the kettle. Splashing the water into 007’s face did little, but it somehow managed to render him unconscious.  
  
“M’s going to be pissed,” 006 said, staring at the body of his assigned partner blankly.  
  
“Self defence,” Bond grunted out. “We gotta move, if he got sent to make tea, he’ll absence will be noticed soon.”  
  
Q kneeled by the fallen 007, fishing out the com from his ear. It was smoking slightly, setting off a tiny explosion as soon as he had it out.  
  
“Is this a feature?” Q asked, turning to face 006, “Or is your tech department just incapable of making waterproof coms?”  
  
“Technically,” 006 rummaged around his pouches, taking out an old-looking brick of a phone. " _This_ is meant to be our com, and it's everything-proof. Generally, we just get ear-inserts on our own and get someone to sync them for us."  
  
"Bond would do wonderfully at your agency," Q muttered, fishing out 007's brick. "I can work with this though. If we know the frequency, we can counter it."  
  
“The hacker’s got him under constant control?” Bond said. “So everyone else, if they’ve got any earphones, headphones, bluetooth speakers, anything - they’ll be under full control, too.”  
  
"Yes," Q nodded, already typing away, "But most of them won't have technology so conveniently water-sensitive."  
  
"Some of them will," 006 said, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If we set off the sprinklers system..."  
  
"Then the hacker will simply switch to the main speakers, and our advantage will be gone," Bond interrupted. "We'd have to set the sprinklers and disable the speakers at the same time."  
  
"And deal with the hacker immediately after," 006 nodded. "Split up?"  
  
"You find sprinklers, I'll deal with the speakers. Q-"  
  
"-will be the one to actually deal with the speakers, thank you very much," Q finished typing and stood up from the computer. "Since I'm the only one who knows how to do that."  
  
Bond shot him a look. Q just looked back until Bond gave up with a sigh.  
  
“It’s dangerous,” he settled on saying. Q tried very hard to keep in the _duh_. “Can’t you do it from afar?”  
  
“Bond,” Q managed. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “You can’t keep doing my job for me forever, you know.”  
  
“But it’s _not_ your job! You said the firewalls are falling - shouldn’t you be focusing on that?”  
  
Q rolled his eyes, pointing to the laptop, with its completely black screen.  
  
“The battery died,” he said. “And since neither of you believes in carrying around some proper tech, our best shot is to stop the attack at its source rather than to try and counter it.”  
  
Bond clearly didn't look happy about that, but there was nothing else he could do about it.  
  
"Fine," he said. "But I'm coming with you. Every step of the way."  
  
"Do you guys… need a minute?" 006 said. "Or can we go deal with the hacker?"  
  
"Yes, of course," Q corrected his glasses, clearing his throat. "I looped a few cameras before the laptop died, you should remain unseen until you reach the closest fire alarm."  
  
Bond, clearly looking for something to do, fiddled with his pockets before going to check the corridor.  
  
"When should I pull it?"  
  
"Find an alarm near a speaker, you'll hear it when they get disabled," Q said, joining Bond at the door. "Come over to the office later."  
  
Q just about waited for 006 to nod before disappearing outside.  
  
The office was just down the corridor, but they'd have to pass through one of the rooms to reach it.  
  
They went, silently, reaching the end of the looped cameras in no time at all.  
  
Bond looked back at Q, his expression impossible to read.  
  
Stopping by his side, Q gave him a little nod.  
  
They took the next few steps together, throwing the doors open with a thud.  
  
"Hello there," Q said cheerfully to the room full of mind controlled people, all staring at them with blank eyes, "I believe we've got an appointment with your current decisions-maker."  
  
It was weirdly eerie to see them all blink at the same time. Was that a part of the frequency? Q was definitely going to have a look at the mechanics of that, once all the mess was over and done with.  
  
In the end, two of the brainwashed policemen - Inspector with her bluetooth speakers in and someone who Q strongly suspected had started that day inside their holding cells with giant headphones - came forward.  
  
They flanked Bond and Q, escorting them in, almost all the way towards the office door.  
  
It didn't take long for the doors to open.  
  
And when they did, through stepped-  
  
"Sylvester?" Q asked, momentarily baffled.  
  
Sylvester scowled.  
  
“My _name_ is _Silva_ ,” he growled, stabbing a button on the remote he was holding.  
  
The shrill noise sounded again.  
  
“That’s not going to work,” Q snorted, turning to face Bond, “We’ve-”  
  
Bond’s eyes were empty.  
  
Q inhaled sharply, trying to take a step back and only knocking into the Inspector.  
  
Silva’s expression turned a degree more angry, before calming down.  
  
“You know what, this is actually better,” he said, shrugging, as he plopped down into a swivel chair. Fancy - must’ve dragged it in from the office. “I don’t know why you’re not a brainless zombie like the rest of them, but this way you can actually _see_ your friend turn on you - and isn’t that poetic?”  
  
Ducking to avoid Bond’s punch, Q skipped to the right. His back was exposed to Silva, but he couldn’t afford to worry about that - the biggest threat was currently in front of him.  
  
“James?” he tried. “James, James please, I know you don’t want to do this!”  
  
Bond tried a left hook and a right hook. Q managed to duck both of them, but he kept losing ground. It wasn’t long until his back was pressed to the office door.  
  
“James, please, you can fight it, I know you can!”  
  
“No, he can’t!” Silva cackled, somewhere vaguely to their left. “Man, I wish I had popcorn. Anyone’s got popcorn?”  
  
The moment of distraction was all he needed. He fell through the door, but he didn’t even care, scrambling for the laptops immediately.  
  
He trusted Bond to close and barricade the doors.  
  
“What?!” Silva was yelling on the other side, repeatedly hammering the button. Q could feel a migraine incoming. “Why isn’t this working!”  
  
Once he had access to the main laptop, disabling the attack took seconds - Silva clearly hadn’t ever expected anyone to get that far.  
  
Still, if Q had been in his place, there would have been better protections on the process even if the laptop was in the middle of the South Pole.  
  
Next went out the speakers, with one last huzzah that was going to leave Q’s ears ringing for _hours_.  
  
The sprinklers activated seconds later, snapping a good portion of the crowd out of the mind-control.  
  
…And along with them came the blaring alarm. What was it with loud, annoying sounds today?  
  
Q made sure to delete the sound file Silva was using - better safe than sorry, - and disabled both the lockdown and the jam.  
  
“007? 007, respond!” the brick he took off 007 blared suddenly. “007, what’s going on!”  
  
Bringing the brick up, Q hesitated for a second. He pressed a button most likely to patch him through to the other end, leaning in slightly.  
  
“Hi,” he said, “We’ve fixed the situation for you, you’re welcome. Come pick up the hacker and your agents. Fair warning though, one of them might still be unconscious and have a few stab holes.”  
  
Dead silence was his only answer.  
  
“It’s 007, isn’t it?” someone finally said. “With the stab holes.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Fuck, I owe Anderson 20 pounds then.”  
  
Q didn’t quite know what to say to that.  
  
“Take them outside, we’ll be waiting,” another voice called out, and the line went dead.  
  
Bond tapped Q’s arm, “Is it safe yet?”  
  
Nodding, Q pocketed the brick as Bond took out the earplugs with a grimace.  
  
“I don’t wanna do that ever again,” he said.  
  
“Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Q went to the door, pushing at the cupboard Bond had managed to place in front of it in the short while they’ve been inside. “Come help me with this, we gotta go pick 007 and grab Silva.”  
  
“MI6’s gonna come pick them up?” Bond obligingly came closer, pushing the cupboard back seemingly without effort.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
Silva did not feel like waiting for them - he was already gone by the time Q and Bond managed to get out of the office. They made their way past the confused cops without a trouble, getting out in the corridor.  
  
He hadn’t gotten far - they found him knocked out barely a few steps away from the door, 006 on top of him, tying him up with zip ties.  
  
“All done?” he asked.  
  
“Yep,” Q nodded, popping the _p_. “All we gotta do now is grab your pal 007 and we can leave you all for MI6 to pick up.”  
  
“Fantastic,” 006 groaned, picking Silva up in a fireman's carry. “I really didn’t fancy flagging down a cab with two passed out guys in tow.”  
  
With every single thing 006 said about MI6, Q was getting more and more worried about the future of their nation.  
  
Picking 007 up was easy - 006 had treated him with zip ties before he left for the sprinklers, all they had to do was carry him. Which, of course, fell on Bond’s shoulders.  
  
There were three unmarked vans waiting on the outside of the precinct when they got out, a number of agents spread before them.  
  
They swarmed 006 and Bond instantly, picking their cargo and depositing it in two separate vans.  
  
“Excuse me-” someone said, grabbing at Q’s arm.  
  
And then their arm got nearly broken when Bond chopped it with his hand in an attempt to make them let go, which was a bit creepy, but very much appreciated.  
  
“I got this covered,” 006 said, inserting himself between the agent and Bond.  
  
The agent left in clear relief, clutching at their arm.  
  
“Boss wants to talk to you two, though,” 006 said, turning to face them.  
  
“Uh-huh, and then no one is going to talk to us ever again, huh?” Bond folded his hands across his chest, placed firmly in front of Q.  
  
“Trust me, you-”  
  
“I’m sorry, 006, but how could we?” Q interrupted. “We don’t know the first thing about you, and-”  
  
“Alec,” 006 said. “Call me Alec Trevelyan.”  
  
Bond and Q exchanged a glance.  
  
“What does your boss want to talk about?” Bond asked gruffly, his own version of extending an olive branch.  
  
“M sounded pretty impressed with you two,” Alec said, sounding weirdly proud. “She wants to give you a job. Judging by the recent events, I’d guess Quartermaster and Double-0 Agent, and we all know which one of you would get which.”  
  
Q snorted in agreement.  
  
“However, it would mean giving up your life,” Alec levelled them with a serious look. “Literally. Your death would be faked, and your civilian identities permanently unusable-”  
  
“I’m in,” Q interrupted. “All I’ve been working for all those years, for free, with a job and a chance to help bring MI6 into this century? The toys I could come up with… It’s gonna be epic. Count me in.”  
  
“Then I’m coming with you,” Bond nodded decisively. “Every step of the way.”  
  
Alec grinned widely, leading them towards the third van.  
  
“I was hoping you’d say that!”

**Author's Note:**

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